Remember, Remember...

I like history. It was always one of my best subjects. Probably because I have a brain for trivia (thanks Dad) I’ve always been good with my history facts. So today I remember the 5th of November is Guy Fawkes day, and next week I will remember that Wednesday is Veterans’ Day, also known as Remembrance Day. I like Veterans’ Day because we celebrate it on the 11th, not on an “observed” Monday and also because unlike Memorial Day, the weather favors remembering instead of picnics.
Life is full of changes and so we feel the need to remember and to hang on to times we feel were better. We also have heard tell that those who do not remember history are doomed to repeat it. And yet with all of this it is life that causes us to forget.
In the city of Hartford there are three distinct 19th century homes you can visit. Most people are aware of the Mark Twain and Harriet Beecher Stowe homes for their historical significance, and because they are next-door neighbors. I even have pictures of these homes that Sonya is sleeping under as I write this. But the third house is the one that is the greater curiosity.
In 1896 Dr. Oliver Isham bought a beautiful Italian-style villa in Hartford. He and his sisters Julia and Charlotte lived there and he kept his medical practice there. His sisters outlived the good doctor and remained in the house until the 1970’s. In the meantime all around them the city grew and modernized and changed. When you visit this house, or even when you pass it on the highway, you will wonder how these ladies managed to continue to live in their home while their neighbors homes were sold and torn down to make room for bigger office buildings and the highway and its ramps. There is nothing but concrete and steel all around this single lonely home.
Inside are gas lights, rare antique books, Dr. Isham’s instruments and so much memorabilia. Currently the house is a museum, with as much left intact as if Julia and Charlotte were still there. Truly they never forgot, although it seems their neighbors and indeed their city forgot them. Generations of people went on living all around them.
Is it truly so wrong to forget? Or was it just the business of life that precluded the remembering? September 11th has passed its 8th anniversary. We have continued to live and to grow strong, and isn’t that the real tribute to those that were lost? We are still here, still in the U.S., and still a democracy.
I admit my history isn’t perfect. I don’t remember the names of all the Pharaohs, at least not the names that weren’t already lost to history. And I don’t remember the exact dates of all the wars ever fought on this earth, or what they all were for. I wonder, as I’m sure you do, who figured out that mushrooms were edible when they are so funny looking? We don’t remember who did, because they are just part of life.
I hope someday to be remembered. I’m not looking for a museum or even a street named after me. I’m hoping that a single fond memory will come to a friend, or a family member who will smile. And with that smile, go on living his or her life.